~~HP~~
.
Remedial Potions that night was in the office again and was silent, and Harry watched as Snape moved almost delicately as he graded paper after paper, carefully lifting them up and setting them down smoothly.
He's in pain, Harry thought immediately and quietly wished he didn't have to legilimize the man.
He was kneeling in a large hall as the Dark Lord stared down at him from a throne on a dais.
"You report no different?" The Dark Lord hissed.
"No, my lord. He is clearly maturing. He is less easily provoked, and does not wear his emotions on his sleeve in the manner he did before. He still thinks himself a hero and a major threat, and I doubt both, my lord. He is still as overly confident as ever, and I have no doubt you will find him an easy target," Snape reported,
"I remember your last report." Voldemort hissed angrily, and Snape bowed his head, thinking behind his occlumency that the Dark Lord was going to torture him for little reason.
Snape wondered if the Dark Lord knew how Thestral was getting into homes, and then his body was on fire, and it was all he could do to keep his jaw clenched and his screams quiet hisses through his teeth.
Harry winced, pulling out of the memory, feeling Snape's thought that he was always sent away as soon as the Dark Lord was done playing with him.
I can't stop the thestral killings, Harry thought, unsure what to say.
Harry sat, still staring at the wall, unsure what to think. He didn't want to think about Snape tortured for his killing, or think about his killing at all, and his thoughts kept circling back to young Goyle's empty, confused expression.
"You may go," Snape said exactly at eight.
"Thank you, professor," Harry said, and he left.
Saturday morning he went immediately to breakfast as soon as it was open. He was barely finished his eggs and toast when a brown owl delivered a Gringott's report of his vault contents.
"What's that?" A third-year asked, looking up from her reams of parchment spread across the table. .
Hasn't learned to do work quickly yet, Harry thought, eying the girl's carefully written out paragraphs.
"A Gringott's report," Harry answered honestly, opening the letter and reading down the list. 20 slips of paper deposits had been added to his vault.
They gave me the names this time, Harry thought, unsure whether or not he was pleased.
It saves time, Harry thought.
Are the goblins that trustworthy?
Can I afford to go to Gringott's every day for my own report?
Harry memorized the names and evanesco'd the paper in his hand.
"Okay, that was shady," The girl commented.
I have 20 names of wizards. Who knows how many of them are potential spies or Death Eaters planning ambushes. I'd need to go with a group to be safe visiting any of them, and yet the Order will not follow my orders.
I could go to Dumbledore.
He refuses to hinder or help me. He must be left out of it, if I don't want him to be fighting for control of me and all of it by the end.
So I cannot go with the Order.
And I cannot bring anyone here.
So I go alone.
Shit.
Harry stared out at the Quidditch field, wondering if his life was truly necessary for the Opposition like Dumbledore had always made it out to be.
He always made too much of me, Harry thought, shaking his head and dropping his gaze to where his clasped hands were hanging between his knees.
I'll go with the element of surprise, and I'll land far enough away from them to be safe from any wardings.
Land? Land where? The thestrals are gone,
Harry stared toward the Forbidden Forest, cursing Dumbledore.
So much for not hindering me,
He needed to keep Voldemort from attacking the castle, Harry argued with himself, dragging his eyes back to the hufflepuffs playing quidditch, students who would die in an attack.
I need to master animagi magic.
Harry got up, and headed with renewed determination to the Room of Requirement.
He slipped into his meditation, and concentrated on the magic in his blood until he could feel its flow through him. Harry grasped that magic with his mind and stretched his concentration over everything it touched, every bit of magic it had in contact with, until he felt like his mind was going to explode with the magnitude of life bursting through a human body.
He didn't need to change it at all to feel natural, he reminded himself, he was nature, he was magic and life.
Transfiguro Espiritu, Harry cast, feeling his concentration split and the spell go uncast.
Shit, Harry cursed, running a hand through his hair and checking the time.
11:00, another five hours wasted and he was going to spend another five that night studying animagi. He was supposed to take a break.
Harry left the Room of Requirement, unsure what to do or where to go. He set himself at a window, staring down toward the Quidditch field and the tree he'd leaned again, and listened to their shouts as the ball was passed back and forth.
Harry caught sight of Draco on the quiet bleachers and focused the magic around him to look closer. Suddenly it seemed Draco was slumped just five feet from him, watching the early morning Ravenclaw practice with the chill air tossing up his light hair.
Harry almost wanted to talk to him for a moment, wondering at how misery could make even a Death Eater look innocent.
How will I justify not killing him if he acts like all the others?
I can't.
Harry pulled his focus away from his magic, releasing the spell and stepping away from the window. Sympathy for Draco was only going to make his decisions harder.
He went back to the room of requirement, and returned to trying to split his concentration between his meditation and magic.
~~HP~~
Harry woke up Monday morning and stared at the tan ceiling above him, frustrated with his almost useless weekend.
He had 20 names of potential allies and no way to get to them, a greater understanding of magic but no idea how to apply it, and books about animagi magic that promised the training would take ten years to master.
Harry sighed, rolling himself up and pulling on jeans and jogging down to meet Hagrid and Buckbeak and tell him he wasn't going to need riding lessons anymore and make some excuse that didn't include his failing attempts at becoming an animagus.
By 5:30 he was meditating again, sitting cross-legged in the Room of Requirement and searching out with his magic for that feel of connection and life that the sphinx had shown him and trying to feel the spell that McGonagall had cast at the same time.
Harry forced himself to relax, keeping his concentration lightly on both subjects and allowing his mind to wander a bit more.
He focused on his connection to the world, and he wanted to transform, and he barely noticed when his magic shifted beneath him until he was scrambling up, desperately trying to get standing, to keep from tangling and breaking his legs.
Harry breathed heavily as adrenaline surged through his form, adding energy to his magic and making his wings twitch lightly with excitement, sending a slight breeze running over his thin mane.
Thestral, Harry thought in shock, feeling his ears perk forward in a grin, looking down and feeling his long neck stretch as it carried his large head almost down to the ground to look backwards between his legs.
I look ridiculous right now, Harry thought as he stared at his long bony legs that ended in slightly pointed hooves he had no doubt could kill a man in a single strike.
His body didn't feel foreign. Harry wondered at that, pulling his head up to start walking slowly around the room. It was like legilimency, when he was seeing through another's eyes, from another's body, and yet didn't feel strange. This was his body, and he had no doubt that he knew how to fly.
I need a mirror, Harry told the room, and received a wall-long mirror on the wall.
He was gray.
Harry stared at his reflection. Thestrals looked like skeletons stretched with too-thin flesh and he was no different. Harry drew his eyes over the bony withers and jagged vertebrae almost expecting the skin to crack and tear as he shifted his weight. His sparse mane hanged lightly, black against his gray neck, leaving large gaps to show the hollow structure of his neck and spine. His ribs just jutted out leaving a hollow space where organs and fat were supposed to hang.
His wings were almost transparent, leather-like flesh jagged with holes, Harry noticed, lifting a wing up to see it over his back. It was held by a structure of thinly connected bones pushing out against the skin, looking like the hard structure of a leaf that could somehow push his entire body into the air, toward anyone he wanted.
Carlos Mayorga,Harry thought, catching the first name that came to mind and almost startling as he turned his head to point toward the mirrored wall of the Room of Requirement, staring south toward where the man was.
Harry concentrated on his human form, sure of the casting now. He shifted his magic just the touch that it needed, and concentrated on it flowing through his body as he shrunk and fattened and lost and grew hair over his body.
Harry watched the grotesque display in the mirror, and decided firmly that he hoped there was a good way of speeding it up, as he'd never seen McGonagall's face slowly twist and deform itself into that of a cat, and he was sure he never wanted to.
And he never lost the feel for Carlos Mayorga and he started toward the door. Something had changed in his magic, like he'd stirred it just a touch. Harry wanted to bury himself in his animagi books again but he had 20 potential allies to visit and legilimize, and he had no idea how long that would take, and he was going to start with Carlos Mayorga.
Flying is slow, Harry thought, stopping suddenly.
Thestrals had no choice but to fly, but he was a wizard too.
Harry concentrated on Carlos Mayorga, and started to shift his magical signature, allowing himself through Hogwart's heavy anti-apparation wards.
He realized too late that he'd wanted to approach the man slowly, and felt his face flush in panic as he landed with a loud crack. Harry magicked himself invisible and shielded before anything and turned to where Carlos Mayorga was sitting up in bed from his siesta and grabbing his wand.
Harry pushed his mind into the man's as he rushed backward in the room, tipping over something behind him that landed with a crash. He ducked the spell sent at him and threw himself across the room as he felt the man's hope that came with perhaps catching Harry Potter himself for the Dark Lord. Perhaps then the refusals would stop, he'd be able to meet his Lord in person-
Harry spun and killed, made a My-Little-Pony, and apparated away, wondering at the luck that his target had been napping and hadn't killed him.
It's not supposed to be luck, Harry cursed himself, landing further away from the next name in the middle of a busy, crowded muggle street in a cold fog.
A man dressed in a muggle business suit smashed into him and stepped back for a moment, staring at where Harry stood invisible, before simply walking around him, shaking his head and continuing on his way.
No time to stop, Harry thought, forcing his adrenaline down and concentrating on the quiet alley beside him toward where he could feel Nathan Hill. The alley opened onto a street lined with stores and tourists near a large roundabout. Harry made his way down another cross street, and found himself in a more shadowed, but equally well traveled pedestrian street and looked toward a brown-haired, colorfully dressed street musician sitting and playing a cello exactly where he felt Nathan Hill.
Harry dodged his way invisible through the crowd until he was beside the man.
Patrificus totalus, Harry cast, watching as the man froze and the music stopped on the note, hanging emptily on the air. The crowd looked over curiously and continued on and Harry carefully made his way behind the man.
"The Dark Lord," Harry said, and pushed his legilimency into the man's mind.
Nuetral, Harry felt, and a memory started to form in his brain.
The musician was sitting in a casual bar, talking with a friend.
"I like to stay out of politics, really. This Dark Lord has some good ideas, anyone can see that, but I'd rather sit in front of my fire with a cup of tea and my cello than anything else,"
Harry almost pulled his magic out of the man's mind but something wasn't right, was fake, and he changed his mind, concentrating.
He was standing outside a brick, nondescript little house in a series of identical suburban houses and there was a Dark Mark over his home, and he knew without a doubt the sick fuck had killed his daughter, and he was alone again, and he was never going to be brave enough to avenge her.
He's with me, Harry thought, nodding and releasing his binding spell.
"Nathan Hill," Harry said, surprised as he saw the man deftly put his bow back to the instrument's strings and continue in the music as if it'd never stopped.
"What can I do for you?" asked the man, sounding relaxed.
"You wanted to join us," Harry said, feeling his respect grow for the man as he realized the cello music blocked his voice easily from the crowd and most spells could not break that.
"That depends, who is 'us'?" the man asked, his bow stretching across the strings slowly in a long note.
"I am Harry Potter," Harry said.
"Prove it," replied the musician.
Well he understands constant vigilance, Harry thought approvingly as he walked around the man to face him.
Nathan Hill barely looked up before he shook his head.
"I'm no muggle. You could be anyone beneath that face." The man said, shaking his head.
"You don't know me, there's nothing I can say to prove it," Harry said.
"There's a pharmacy across the street. Go buy a bottle of aspirin and let me see you take a pill. You survive that and I'll believe you," the man said.
Polyjuice is poisonous with all pain relievers, Harry remembered, starting to grin.
Harry jogged across the crowd easily, dodging pedestrians until he'd made his way into the shop.
This could be a trap, Harry thought worriedly, concentrating on his magic and unable to feel anything of magic in the muggle area.
He found the aspirin quickly and checked it for any tampering magic before he walked over to pay.
All I have is galleons, Harry realized, turning away from the counter to enter another aisle.
I could go to Gringotts and convert it, Harry thought, trying to judge how long that would take from wherever he was now.
He shrunk the bottle and walked through the theft detectors confidently, returning to the musician quickly.
"Harry Potter the thief then," the man remarked dryly, stopping playing to watch him.
Harry opened the bottle and pulled two pills into his hand, showed them to the musician and threw them into his mouth. He swallowed swiftly, and nodded to the musician.
"But at least you are Harry Potter," said the man, carefully putting his cello aside and standing up.
"Nathan Hill, as you know." he said, pulling out his hand.
"Harry Potter, likewise" Harry replied, shaking his hand quickly and wandlessly casting silencing wards around them. "Here's the deal, I know your name and I know how to find you, so we have a start.
I should have planned this out, Harry realized, staring at the man and realizing he had nothing to say.
I need a way to call him in an emergency and a way for him to call me. Everything else can be later, Harry told himself, forcing himself to plan. Even if I call him, how the hell will he get to me? I know where he is, not vice versa. I can't apparate to bring him to an emergency every time. So I need a way for him to know where I am or a way for me to bring him. And often in battle I don't even know what town I'm in.
"So..., what can I do for you Mr. Potter?" asked Nathan after the long silence of him thinking.
"Are you willing to fight?" Harry asked to stall.
"I am," Nathan announced quietly, "but let's not be seen here," he said, quickly packing away his cello and case.
Stupid! Damn it!
"Indeed," Harry said, nodding.
Harry took the man's arm swiftly and concentrated on the field the Order had used for Michael's funeral. He landed on top of the hill in sunny, warm weather.
Harry pulled out his wand and transfigured them a table and chairs.
Harry pulled a galleon out of his pocket and cast a careful Protean charm on it.
"This will burn when I'm about to call you," Harry said, pushing it across the table.
The serious man grabbed it swiftly and pointed his wand at the coin, casting a precise burrowing spell to carve a hole in it before he transfigured himself a thin leather strap and tied it around his neck.
"How will I get to you?" he asked calmly.
I'm still trying to work that out.
"You'll see," Harry said. "Here's how this will work and how it's gone for men before you. I'll call you to battle and you'll come. You'll have the perfect chance to shoot me in the back and I'll kill you if you take it. You fight with us and you're one of us,"
And somehow I need to find a time to train them.
"Sounds fair," the man promised.
"Good," Harry said, standing up and leaving the table where it was. He had another 18 names to go through.
"Is Thestral working with you?" the man asked from behind him, not getting up.
"Yes," Harry answered simply, apparating away to meet the next potential ally.
He killed three ambushers, gave out fifteen galleons, and returned to the castle to find some way to make the galleons useful.
~~HP~~
Harry sat at the Griffindor table forcing his way through his lunch, his books spread out before him. He refused to even look at them as he counted down the minutes to the end of his break.
"Hey," said someone from across the table.
"I can't talk now," Harry apologized without looking up from his watch. He pushed another bite of pasta into his mouth and swallowed as someone set down books across the books.
Harry looked up to see Neville looking at him carefully.
"May I?" Neville asked, glancing at the table.
Harry thought for a moment, running his eyes over Neville and deciding the quiet boy was unlikely to disturb him and would leave if asked.
"Sure," Harry replied, tapping the table to disappear his plate and pulling his book closer to him.
He wasn't sure how much later he looked up, but the room had obviously filled and emptied around him, all except for Neville studying across from him. Harry pushed his book of Protean charm variations away from himself and sighed. He was getting nowhere.
"What are you working on?" Neville asked, quietly enough for Harry to ignore if he wanted.
Harry pulled a book closer to himself and ran a hand through his hair, surprised when his hand tangled in his hair at the back of his neck. Harry pulled his hand free, reminding himself to find a time to cut it.
"I'm trying to find a way to bring someone to me, if they don't know where they're going," Harry said.
"Like a port-key?" Neville asked.
Harry nodded.
"Similar, but from afar. I give you a spelled galleon, then when I need you I get the galleon to bring you to me," Harry said.
Neville bit down on the end of his quill absently, nodding.
"Yeah," Harry said, sighing again and throwing himself back into his book.
"Have you thought about the Replacement charm?" Neville interrupted later.
Harry looked up and saw Neville staring into space, still biting his quill.
"The which?" Harry asked.
"It's like the Protean charm Hermione used on our galleons in that it works through wards but instead of sending a information onto the copy it actually switches the two objects. They have to be externally identical, so they're not hugely practical, but they're what allow the house-elves' dumbwaiters and Vanishing Cabinets to work."
"So you can switch an object out for another through wards. That's incredibly dangerous," Harry said, thinking it over.
"Well, not necessarily. I went to Dumbledore earlier this semester after finding a partner-less Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement but he said it's nothing to worry about,"
And Dumbledore knows his magic, alright.
"But say, if I were to switch out one galleon for a port-key to where I was..." Harry thought allowed.
"Then you'd have your spell, exactly," Neville replied. Harry felt himself grin and stood up.
"Then I need to get myself to the library and then all over Europe. I'll see you at dinner," Harry promised.
"You'll be safe?" Neville asked, looking concerned.
"No one will even need to know I'm there," Harry replied.
"You do more than anyone knows, don't you?" Neville asked, eying him searchingly.
"That just depends on how much they know," Harry replied.
That was meaningless.
"See you at dinner," Harry repeated, walking quickly toward the library.
It was only when his alarm rang to remind him to go to Snape's next detention that he remembered that it was Monday, and he'd missed all of his classes. He had seventeen allies including Derrick Hoskins who would be apparated to him in a crisis, and he'd learn how many would truly fight.
~~HP~~
He was on time for Snape for once, Harry noted as he knocked and was bid to enter. He pushed the door open quickly and saw Snape at his usual table, busy putting ingredients in one cauldron while he stirred another with his left hand.
"Good evening Mr. Potter," greeted Snape, sounding unharried.
"Evening, should I be quiet?" Harry asked, gesturing to the two cauldrons in front of the man.
"No," Snape replied, dousing the fire beneath the cauldron he was stirring and staring to stir the other.
"Alright," Harry replied, looking around for somewhere to sit that would be out of the way.
"I have a question for you, Mr. Potter, and a serious one," Snape said, glancing up from his cauldron and leveling Harry with a calculating look.
Harry dropped his bag where he stood and focused.
"Which is that?" Harry asked.
Snape doused the fire beneath his second potion, seemingly unrushed as he grabbed a pair of potholders from beside him and lifted one cauldron to carefully pour its light contents into the other. He only looked up when he'd set the one potion down and stood leaning slightly on the table.
"Why am I still alive?"
Harry blinked, confused, glancing over Snape's perfectly serious, fearless expression.
He had to force his eyes not to widen as his thoughts caught up with him.
He shifted his magical signature and stretched his magic through Snape's wards.
He found himself staring at a very clear, very isolated image of a ink and white My-Little-Pony on a black background.
Oh my god, Harry thought, forcing all expression from his face as he walked over to the closer of the room's windows and leaned on its edge, preparing to think.
He knows, he knows and he has no doubt, how?
I left trails, I know that.
And he followed them? So quickly?
He's a genius, that's unquestioned. And he's a spy, it's his life to know.
"Interesting question," Harry allowed, though he forced all tone from the statement, keeping it light.
So Snape also knows that since I have not killed him I probably won't now. But he knows I'm able to kill him, so he's guessing that I won't. Why wouldn't I, if he reveals me-
The war isn't too badly altered, and he knows that. Okay, so he's not a fool for revealing his knowledge to me, but where did he get it?
It doesn't matter, not now, it's too late, and how am I going to respond?
He's not loyal to Voldemort, that's all that's important here. So I'll tell him the truth.
And try beyond everything to gain his loyalty,
Harry sighed, watching Snape through the window's reflection.
"You are not loyal to Voldemort," He said.
Snape didn't reply, and Harry figured he didn't really need to. They both knew that was true.
All of the truth?
He's not loyal to Voldemort, and I may be able to get him loyal to me, or loyal to the Opposition, Harry reminded himself.
"I legilimized you," Harry said, and saw Snape's eyebrows flicker upwards for just a moment. "Dumbledore knows I can do it, though of course if your loyalty is to him, you must report it in any case,"
So I just told him I'm unsure of his loyalties,
I should tell him what I know, Harry thought, feeling the room's carefully placed wards in his magic and remembering what Dumbledore said of Snape's value on privacy.
"I've seen Dumbledore's memories of you trying to save my mother, and your grief in his office after she died. I have to assume you loved her, not nearly as much from those memories, where you were crying intentionally, but more from the memory you gave me the night before last,"
Snape stayed silent in his almost-arrogant pose. The only thing that broke the nonchalant image was his gaze which stared evenly at Harry's back with an abnormal focus.
I do not like breaking his privacy, Harry thought, letting his eyes wander over Snape's face and wondering why he cared more about intruding on his thoughts than on Dumbledore's.
"I did not like breaking your privacy, but it was necessary for the war. If you were loyal to Voldemort, you would be a liability beyond all reason."
He knows all of that and he knows I realize he still could be a spy, Harry reminded himself, thinking carefully. If he's not loyal to Voldemort, but is loyal to a Death Eater his loyalties could still be against me. We both know that.
"I saw your confession at my mother's funeral, and I felt your resolve to follow the Christian doctrine," Harry said carefully, "That is to some extent why you are alive. I had no evidence of your loyalties one way or the other before, and now I am uncertain, though obviously inclined to trust, if carefully," Harry finished.
"Fair," Snape said simply, taking a large gulp of his water and placing it on the table with a click. "I am loyal to all opposing Voldemort and I am searching for a way to be loyal to my family as well,"
Family?
"Understandable," Harry said.
"I don't have many more memories that will suit you," Snape said, his greasy hair slipping over his shoulder as pulled his gaze from Harry to look at the wall in front of him.
He knows I'm going to keep legilimizing him, Harry thought, sighing.
"I suspect that's true," Harry replied, touching his magic into Snape's enough to read his feelings clearly. "Who is your family?"
"Mr. Draco Malfoy is my godson," Snape said honestly.
"That's a problem," Harry said.
Snape didn't reply, and Harry realized that there wasn't much to say. Harry let the silence simmer, and let himself look out the window at the barren forest above them.
He knows.
He is not acting scared of me, Harry thought, grateful for it, though he doubted Snape would act scared whether or not he felt the emotion.
And who knows if I'd be able to catch any sign of it he did make, Harry thought, glancing over Snape's still face again.
He knows I kill in cold blood. What the hell do I do with that?
Snape moved to reach for his cauldron and suddenly jerked to a stop, catching Harry's attention.
Snape was holding his forearm, his fingers light and still and Harry started to get up as he looked over the man's emotionless mask.
Death Eater spy, Harry remembered, wondering how he'd forgotten, even for the short moment.
"It seems our class is over," Harry said, walking toward the door, and to his surprise, Snape joined him.
Harry watched, confused, as he saw Snape opening cabinets by the door and rubbing his fingers over a few of the ingredients inside, taking none of them.
He took a vial out of a cold cabinet finally and dipped his fingers into it before smudging it lightly on his sleeve.
"We finished the first step of an advanced shrinking potion today, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "The fact that there's not nearly enough of it for a student's bludgeoning work will have to be ignored,"
"No, I spilled it on me," Harry said.
Snape nodded, and walked over to his small caldron on the table and without a word threw the contents onto Harry's robes,
"Shame," Snape said, his rude drawl returning. Harry hadn't noticed the irritating tone's absence, but he grinned at its return.
"Indeed," Harry said, walking toward the door, "I'm exceedingly pissed."
He knows I've killed in cold blood.
"Another detention on whatever Monday is left over, for your clumsiness and foul language. If you have to be useless, at the very least do it somewhere else. Get out of my sight." Snape bit out, his angry, almost sickened expression returning as if he'd suddenly walked onto a stage and taken up his lines without any need of a transition.
"Bastard," Harry replied lightly.
How am I just joking with him now?
"Indeed," Snape returned.
Harry left, sure to slam the door behind him.
Snape knows, Harry thought, sitting down when he got to the steps toward Griffindor tower, running his hand through his hair and trying to understand how to feel about it. He quickly decided he wasn't going to feel much, that he didn't have to care as long as it didn't hinder the war, and headed to his dorm to get more than his five hour minimum of sleep.
He went to bed with a spelled galleon resting on his chest supported by the leather tie around his neck as he hoped fifteen wizards and witches were doing across Europe.
He woke, and it was Tuesday and he had his morning free to study strategy. He went and delivered his strategy ideas and Dumbledore was serious and professional as if the spark in his eyes had never existed at all.
Harry left, closing the thick door behind himself as he started down the spiral staircase and told himself he was glad Dumbledore was teaching him without his random conversations over tea. There was tea, and maps and relevant war stories, and that was better.
He wandered down the hall, passing from window to window as he watched them before he remembered he had to eat his second breakfast and go to class and he pulled his eyes away to walk faster.
He was in Transfiguration, his last class that day, when McGonagall stopped halfway through a sentence, her eyebrows raised at the door behind them.
Harry turned around and was surprised to see Snape had somehow made it into the room without him hearing.
"I'd like to borrow Mr. Potter for a moment, professor," Snape sneered, though Harry suspected his disrespect was faked.
"Of course," McGonagall nodded, before continuing on about intrinsic magical generation. Harry still couldn't believe they were only then starting to learn about it, and so far in the abstract as to be useless.
Harry picked up his book Anti-Guerrilla Tactics in Vietnam and joined Snape walking out of the door.
Snape walked in silence down the stairs into the castle dungeons and brought him on the fastest route toward his heavily warded office. Harry walked inside and sat down on a stool with his back against the wall, watching Snape carefully.
"What do you need?" he asked.
"The Dark Lord wants to speak with you," said Snape, his face unreadable.
"Alright, that doesn't sound likely, go on," Harry replied.
Snape opened his palm, revealing a vial of white, smokey substance Harry recognized as a memory before Snape rolled it into his fingers and set it on the table.
"He sent a memory. I tested it for traps to the best of my ability," Snape said.
Harry shook his head.
"I can't take that risk for no reason," He said.
"I figured you would say that, as did the Dark Lord. I watched the memory under his orders," Snape said.
And I'm guessing he had no choice about doing that, Harry said, watching Snape carefully. Snape's facial expressions didn't change at all, but Harry didn't expect them to.
Assuming his loyalty to the Opposition is greater than his loyalty to the Malfoys, Harry corrected himself, suppressing a growl. He wanted to just trust the man. How was he supposed to be so constantly wary of a man?
"The Dark Lord ordered me to allow you though all occlumency," Snape said, the lines around his eyes tightening.
Oh shit. That's what I already do, but Snape doesn't necessarily know that. And either way, to allow me? His mind will try and bring up his most personal memories.
"Lower your wards, I'll watch nothing but the memory," Harry promised.
Why did I promise that? I could learn precious information with this.
I need Snape. It's simple. I need Snape.
"Very well," Snape said stiffly, sitting down behind the table near him and leaning down on it, his elbows resting heavily on the stone tabletop. Harry nodded, and pressed his magic forward.
A memory formed in his brain, layering over what his eyes saw, distracting as if he were trying to concentrate on an imagined scene and stay aware of his surroundings at the same time. Harry was used to the sensation and concentrated on the image in his mind, an image of a cloaked man standing in front of a roaring fireplace, silhouetted in the light.
"Mr. Potter," said the man, and the image focused. Harry felt his eyes roll back toward the ceiling as he concentrated, but the scene became clear.
Voldemort had never looked more real. His too-pale skin stretched around his eyes, leaving his skin too-smooth, too-sharp, almost like a thestral's but for its absolute lack of beauty. The whites of his eyes were streaked with red but looked straight out at Harry through Snape's memory, burning with strength and conviction in his words. He stood like a war general, his back straight and his hands pulled behind his back, and Harry found himself interested despite himself.
"We meet, finally alone, of sorts." Voldemort said, a small smile starting on his face. "No doubt you've heard of me. I'm He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, no doubt the epitome of cruelty and prejudice, so evil one does not even dare speak my name. But you are not that cowardly, and so I am interested by you, and I come to tell you to think about what you have heard, and to not believe,"
Eloquent.
"I was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, descendant of Merope Guant and likewise, Salazar Slytherin. You are the descendant of James Ignotus Potter, descendant of Charlus Potter, and likewise Phineas Black, and likewise Merope Gaunt. I was in my sixth year at your school when I read Donoso Cortes's Speech on Dictatorship. He spoke of humanity's flaws, of it's irrationality and continual depravity, and I found myself agreeing despite myself. Think of the muggles who raised you, who kept you in a staircupboardand bloated their child with indulgent idiocy.
He knows about that?, Harry startled before he pushed the thought away and Voldemort continued to speak.
"That is what democracy allows for, for the majority to rule whatever they want is what is best. That cannot be true. I needed to believe better than that, and so I found the philosophy that has since led the world forward. Where in that, did I become the spokesman for all cruelty? I saw a better world, what men could be led to be, in the proper circumstances. Donoso Cortes wrote of what Dictatorship could do for the world, and I began to agree with him. Think of the weakness that pervades society, of the self-indulgence of democracy. Democracy's foundation lies in a deceitful theory that the Ministry insinuates, namely the theory that all men are created equal. You know that is not true, you see it in every school, in every tournament, contest, and duel that has ever existed. Some wizards are simply stronger than others, some wizards are more prepared to lead than others, and the Ministry has never been able to defend why it ignores that fact, why it consistently allows the weak to lead. And now we see democracy's result. The Ministry is comprised of fame-driven fools."
That much is true.
Harry felt himself nod despite himself.
"The majority of the world is not comprised of people able to lead, but of those needing a leader. The Ministry of Magic has failed them. The Ministry's so called 'leaders' change their mind at every twist and turn, to always say what their people want to hear, even as their control unravels around them. We realize what is wrong with a Ministry governing a wizarding world, insisting that all wizards are created equally, when we know the truth. We are strong and the likes of Scrimgeour and Fudge are rats that scurry at our feet, and I knew there was something wrong with the world that gives Scrimgeour the right to tell us what magic we may and may not use. To decide what magic was evil. It's magic, it's a force, it has no more inherit evil than a muggle's knife or gun. Power is everything, there are strong wizards and there are weak ones, and the world really is that simple. Power is not brute force, it is not the power to kill or the power to shout, it is the power to think. To know a better way and to lead others toward it. We all must serve something. Some men serve women, others money, others their fame. We must devote ourselves to a mission. Without it, we are nothing but miserable slugs left without plan or purpose. House-elves realize that, and chose to serve wizards, and therein lies the secret to their lives. But we are better than house-elves, better than the Minister's rats, we are stronger, and we are wiser, we chose something greater than Dumbledore or Cornelius Fudge to follow. We have a vision, I have a vision of a world where wizards have no country, no borders, no race, and no limits thrust upon them by a fickle minded public and a disordered Ministry. A world where wizards rise as one people, one nation, led under a guiding light. I have a vision of a world where those with the strength, the courage, and the wisdom to rule can do so, and of a world where the weak shall be brought up to a better life, strengthened under the guiding light of the strongest. I can do this myself but together, Mr. Potter we will see our vision done without struggle, without an overwhelming need to resort to violence for the greater good, nor needless bloodshed. The world will rejoice, and we will lead it to greatness. We are the enlightened, we are one, because we understand how this world works, and we are equally devoted to fighting for a better life for every wizard that lives on it. We are the few that understand that. We must come together and rise up above the Ministry and Dumbledore's disordered band of scurrying rats, and show the world a new Order, a new way of life, where the leaders have the right to lead, and those who know nothing but to follow, follow in their rightful place."
Voldemort finished speaking and stared out at Harry, his eyes just as forceful and his posture strong.
And an army clambers up behind him, Harry thought, thinking he'd underestimated the man. Voldemort was eloquent. And when did he decide to speak to me as a potentially useful ally? How much does he know?
The memory ended and Harry found himself staring at the room's ceiling, his neck tipped back. He pulled his head forward and saw Snape watching him, his eyes focusing warily.
Harry glanced down at Snape's sleeve and saw the tip of a wand tucked subtly into his palm.
Willing to kill me if I join him, or if I don't?, Harry wondered quickly, keeping his face and posture relaxed.
He knows that speech is persuasive. I could keep all of my friends alive through this war by being with Voldemort and we could create a 'vision' together.
And this is why Dumbledore talked about me needing a vision of my own. What kind of society am I trying to protect and build?
"Thanks, but no thanks," Harry said, "democracy just has a great ring to it,"
What do I know of democracy?
Snape didn't relax.
"I'm not tempted, Professor," Harry said, getting up and taking the vial memory off the worktable to hand to the man, careful never to get too close to the wand in the man's hand.
I need to be able to trust him, but he needs to be able to trust me. How did I forget that?
"Legilimize me," Harry ordered.
Snape's eyebrows snapped together and the man looked truly, honestly confused.
"I'll lower my occlumecy and think about Voldemort. You'll know how I feel about him, one way or another," Harry said.
"Mr. Potter, the mind is not a book to be read. There's no saying what I would see," Snape said.
"You'd see whatever most formed my thoughts about him," Harry replied confidently.
"Mr. Potter, there is no need-"
"There is a need," Harry interrupted firmly, "I am hoping that you will help me win this war and that's only going to happen if you trust me,"
"Very well," Snape agreed, nodding.
Either he is a seriously excellent actor for the Death Eaters, or he was ready to kill me for the Opposition, Harry thought.
Harry slowly lowered his occlumency. He didn't even think about the wards anymore, but he shivered as he relaxed them, hating how exposed, naked he felt. He almost expected to feel the cool dungeon air on this thoughts, and then he nodded to Snape and thought of Voldemort, of the speech and of the snake-like form.
An image forced itself into his head, flashing in his mind and encompassing all of his sight.
Henti was standing in the doorway, holding her My-Little-Pony desperately and the vision spun to Arsenius Jugson, grabbing the kicking mother.
"Looks like you've got yourself a screamer. You're a lucky one Arsenius," A Death Eater called, and Harry felt his skin crawl at the words again.
"Nah, I'm for the silent crying type. Go grab the whelp, I'll bring her to the trees," Arsenius replied, and Harry gasped in relief as the memory faded, and he was looking at Snape's haunted expression for a moment, and another memory began to form itself in his head.
A woman was screaming, and he recognized the sound.
"Oh no, I'm sorry," Harry said aloud but he didn't pull his mind away and neither did Snape.
He was standing on a squishy surface, his knees locked and hands straining on the crib bar to keep his head up as he watched his papa run and slam the door to the bedroom.
"James, can we apparate?" Lily said, her red hair falling over her terrified, pale face as she reached over the crib wall for him. Harry laughed lightly, clinging to her hair and pushing against her with his weak feet as she picked him up in warm arms.
Harry felt himself trying to push against his memory, try to stop laughing, scream, anything.
"There's a ward." James said, warding the door, and Harry saw the spell and knew it was uselessly weak.
"Oh god," she gasped, shaking her head. "How did he find us? Sirius would never."
I remember this?
"I don't know. It doesn't matter." James said, rushing forward and pulling them close. Harry rolled his heavy head backward, resting it on the warm hand at his neck and watched as James pressed his forehead against Lily's.
He knew there was nothing they could do.
"Can we hide him?" Lily asked.
"I'll fight. I'll fight and you run, okay?" James whispered, petting a warm hand over Harry's thin hair and Harry felt it flip up and his mouth open in a silly, happy grin.
"I can't lose you." Lily whispered back, shaking her head.
"Yes, you can." James protested, picking up his hand and brushing it over Lily's head. "You can do anything."
"James," Lily choked, hearing the front door slam open.
"Lily," James said, his face almost rising in a smile. "I love you,"
"James," she cried, tears starting.
"Get ready to run," he said.
"I'll fight," she said, blinking quickly and footsteps sounded outside the room.
"No-" James started.
"You know I'll never get past him, you know it. We have to fight," she said.
"Put Harry down," James said, and Lily turned, lowering him gently backwards, and Harry felt his legs fall downward weakly.
"Close your eyes, baby," she said, and moved her wand in an obscuring charm and the memory became absolutely black, but for his suddenly terrified screams, not liking the sudden darkness.
Harry felt Snape's magic pulling from his mind and quickly raised his occlumency wards.
Snape was pale. His eyes were held wide and his breath came unnaturally slowly, but that was all Harry could see of emotion in his quiet posture behind the worktable.
"So you kill Death Eaters," Snape said, his voice unusually soft.
"So I kill Death Eaters," Harry said seriously, watching him carefully.
I just showed a man his loved one's death. Good decision, Harry.
"I'll go," Harry offered, starting to stand up.
"A game?" Snape interrupted.
Harry looked over, surprised, and saw Snape holding a transfigured black king.
"Alright," Harry agreed, moving his bench over to sit across the table from Snape. "E4."
Snape moved his king pawn to E5 and they started.
Snape played in silence and Harry followed his lead. Snape blundered on the twenty fifth move, moving his pawn to A6, and Harry followed through the endgame to a rooks mate.
"Good game," Snape said, staring at the wall behind Harry seriously and resting his hand on his light fist.
"Good game," Harry said, unsure what to do with himself as Snape let the silence stretch.
"You're an interesting man," Snape said quietly.
What is he thinking about?
"I just do what I have to," Harry said.
"What else do you think bravery is?" Snape said sneering.
Harry glanced at Snape, feeling like he was intruding on something private.
"Thestral," Snape said heavily, moving his eyes to consider Harry steadily.
"I just do what I have to," Harry repeated.
The silence stretched out again, but then Harry didn't feel like breaking it. He sat staring at the wall to give the professor his space, and let himself think about Lily and James and the little it seemed to matter that he'd had to grow up without them. Their deaths were tragic, but he knew nothing about them, and he sat very aware of the man suffering across from him.
They played again, at Snape's request, and Snape played white and won. Harry left that night somewhat glad to get out of the charged atmosphere of a very tense and hurting Snape.
~~HP~~